


Lessons in the Art of Deception

by TorWithoutAnH



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Mentors, Philosophical Discussions, lying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-11-12 06:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18005492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TorWithoutAnH/pseuds/TorWithoutAnH
Summary: Garak insists that Ziyal hone her skills in the art of lying. After all, for a Cardassian, mastery of deception is as essential to harmonious social living as proper hygiene and table etiquette. Initially, Ziyal is skeptical, but as she puts her lessons into practice, she soon comes to understand just how powerful a carefully-crafted lie can be. Even Garak may end up surprised by how much she has learned...





	1. Theory

**Author's Note:**

> This story isn't tied to any one specific point in canon; the only needed context is that Ziyal is living on the station with Kira as her guardian, and obviously Garak is not in jail.

Ziyal basked in the heat radiating from beneath her, almost forgetting that the seemingly solid rock she lay against was only holographically generated. She let her mind wander, only half listening to what Garak, reclined on another nearby illusion-of-rock, was saying. He was in a talkative mood today, casually relaying the gossip about a recently-arrived Bolian freighter captain, rumors of which he overheard Morn telling Quark three nights ago...

"Wait." Ziyal realized: "You're lying!"

"Oh?" He looked up, feigning innocence. "Whatever led you to that conclusion?"

"You couldn't have heard those rumors at Quark's three nights ago because three nights ago Quark's was closed after Leeta found a dead vole under her dabo table!"

"Oh, do excuse me, did I say three nights ago? I meant to say four."

"No, that can't be true either. Four nights ago Captain Pran's freighter hadn't arrived yet."

"Is it not possible that our ever-loquacious friend Morn may have been discussing Captain Pran because he anticipated her arrival?"

"Not when the majority of the rumors center on how unexpected her arrival is!" Ziyal, not in a mood to play games, found herself becoming rather irritated.

Garak, on the other hand, looked amused. "My dear, I have been lying to you all evening, and it is only this most obvious and blatant fabrication that you saw fit to challenge. I was beginning to think you weren't paying attention at all!"

Was it too much to ask for just an evening of quiet companionship? She was tired of being treated like an ignorant child, especially by Garak. Even knowing it would do nothing to lend her an air of maturity, Ziyal couldn't help crossing her arms with a huffy sigh.

"Why do you always do this?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lie constantly about things that don't matter."

"My dear girl, lying, much like painting, is both an art and a skill, and, like any skill, requires constant practice lest one's mastery of it fall by the wayside. It is also one of the essential tools of harmonious social living, as fundamental as proper hygiene and table etiquette, and therefore, a skill any Cardassian must learn as early in life as possible." 

"Even if the Cardassian in question is also Bajoran?"

"Especially if she is also Bajoran."

Momentarily, Ziyal wondered if Garak were suddenly transported to an open airlock, how quickly that condescending smile would drain off his face.

"Well, I don't believe it!" Arguing directly with Garak was highly inappropriate, of course. She hoped it would annoy him. "I go through life just fine without lying. Any secrets I might want to keep are already public knowledge anyway."

"I'm sure you lie much more frequently than you claim." Garak's words were spoken very gently, and accompanied by another patronizing smile. Ziyal fumed. "In fact, I'd wager that you've told at least three lies today alone."

Despite her continued frustration, Ziyal was intrigued. "What sort of wager?"

Garak put on his customer service face, which somewhat assuaged Ziyal's annoyance. "If I cannot discover three lies you've told today, I will make you a new gown, of any style and fabric of your choosing, absolutely free of charge. But" -- he raised a hand to emphasize the point -- "if I do find three untruths, no matter how trivial, you, my dear, must concede that lying is indeed an important part of your everyday life, and agree to become my pupil in the art of deception."

Ziyal thought it over. She suspected that enrollment in Garak's proposed lessons would the price of continuing to spend time with him, regardless of whether she took the bet or not. At least this way she could get new clothes out of the deal.

"Alright," she nodded, "I accept your wager."

"Splendid!" Garak's face glowed with mischief and delight. "Now, Tora Ziyal, how many lies have you told today?"

She was about to say she hadn't told any, but then she remembered: "One."

"Alright, and to whom did you lie?"

"My father." Ziyal felt a soft wave a shame to admit that, though whether that shame was rooted in showing disrespect to her father, or for the kind of man he was, she couldn't quite say.

"Ah, I see," Garak's face and tone were carefully neutral. "And what was the lie you told Gul Dukat?"

"He called me this morning, and when he asked if Major Kira was around, I said she was already on duty."

"But she was not?"

"No. She was still in our quarters, straightening up her room and listening to a Bajoran satellite broadcast."

Garak nodded. "And that, you believe, is the only lie you told the entire day?"

"Yes..." Suddenly Ziyal wasn't as sure as she had been a moment before. "As far as I can remember."

Garak's eyes lit up as she conceded her uncertainty. "Hmm, let's see if we can help your memory along. Why don't we walk through your day, starting from the morning?" He idly ran a finger along the scales of his jaw. "When your father called, was he just looking to pester the Major, or did he have something to tell you?"

"Well, he asked how I was doing, you know: am I staying warm enough, how are my studies going, do I plan to go to Bajor for the Gratitude Festival this year. And then he-- you see, he had promised to take me to the Carruna Mountains, so that I can paint the sunrises over the cliffs. I have a holoprogram but I've heard it doesn't do it justice, and-- anyway, we were supposed to go next month, but today he told me the trip is cancelled because the 'current political situation requires his undivided attention.' As if I haven't heard that excuse before."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure you were looking forward to the trip very much." Garak's voice carried a note of genuine sympathy that surprised Ziyal. "It's not fair for fathers to make promises they have no intention of keeping." 

An emotion Ziyal couldn't quite place-- resentment? regret? --flashed in Garak's eyes for only a moment, and just as soon was gone. "So, you must have been terribly disappointed after the call. Did Major Kira notice?"

"Yes, she asked me if something was wrong, and I told her--" Ziyal looked over to find Garak sitting up, smirking. She twisted around to glare at him, gritted her teeth and admitted: "I told her I was just tired! Fine!" She threw her hands in the air and then rolled back flat on the rock again. "But then we had a quiet lunch, she went to work, and I spent the rest of the day painting-- alone-- until coming here."

Ziyal sat up and looked Garak right in the eye, a victorious smile creeping across her face. "That's still only two lies! You owe me a new dress!"

Garak tilted his head, eyeing her appraisingly. "Yes, so it seems, so it seems, indeed." Ziyal wasn't sure she trusted how easily Garak capitulated. "I suppose you should start looking at patterns, and just let me know once you've come to a decision. Oh, and my dear girl--" 

Ziyal definitely didn't trust the mischievous glint in his eye. 

"When you come in for a fitting, be sure to bring the dress you have on with you, and I'll see what I can do to remove that unfortunate stain."

Ziyal looked down, suddenly remembering the bright blue spot above her knee.

"How did that happen? You're always so fastidiously neat with your painting." Garak was beginning to smirk again.

Ziyal sighed. "I was on the upper viewing deck, painting the wormhole. It was quiet up there today, very peaceful. Then Molly O'Brien came running by and bumped my table."

"No!" Garak placed a hand on his chest, mock affronted.

"Yes, and of course the jar closest to the edge was the one I had open, and it landed right in my lap before hitting the floor. Molly had kept on running, I don't think she even noticed what happened."

"Scandalous! Delinquent children running wild and unsupervised on the viewing deck! Captain Sisko will hear about this!"

Ziyal was getting the distinct impression that she was the subject of a joke, but since she didn't know the punchline yet, she had no choice but to continue the story. "So then Chief O'Brien runs over, out of breath, like he's been chasing after Molly all across the station. He sees what happened and tries to help clean up the paint, though of course my dress is a lost cause since the pigment soaked in immediately, and he explains that Molly has gotten into a phase where she just takes off running and won't listen to him when he tells her to stop. And then he apologized several times and offered to pay for the paint and the dress."

"And what did you say to him?" The smirk was reappearing yet again.

"I told him not to worry about it."

"Were those your exact words?" Garak looked like a hara cat ready to pounce.

"Well, I think I... yes, I said, 'It's alright, don't worry about it' and told him which direction Molly had gone."

Garak stared at her seriously for a long moment. Too seriously. "So... you weren't at all upset by the incident?"

Ziyal blinked back incredulously. "Of course I was upset! This is my favorite dress and that was my only jar of Andorian Cobalt, which took months to send for and--" 

Suddenly she saw it. She clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified and then furious. She let out a heavy sigh and glared fiercely at Garak's smug, smirking face. "It wasn't alright. Fine. You win! You caught me! I'm a liar!"

"Was that really so hard to admit, my dear?"

Ziyal refused to dignify the rhetorical question with a response.

"Well, in any case, now that you have conceded the value of carefully-crafted falsehood, are you ready to begin your lessons?"

"I guess." Ziyal laid back down on the rock. If she was going to endure Garak's condescending lectures, she was at least going to make herself as comfortable as possible.

"So, to begin, let us consider the philosophical motivations for deception." Ziyal groaned inwardly. This was off to great start already. "That is to say, the various reasons we tell lies. Some reasons are so obvious they need hardly be mentioned: lies to establish the guilt or innocence of a party in some particular matter, lies to slander the character of one's adversary, lies to create general confusion to obscure the facts... But deception need not always be used as such a blunt instrument. For example, why did you lie to Chief O'Brien?"

Why ask such an obvious question? "Because it was an accident, Molly is a child, she was in trouble for disobeying her father anyway, and Chief O'Brien was already very embarrassed about the whole thing!"

"Ah, so it was a diplomatic lie to demonstrate good will and promote harmonious future relations, yes?"

"Yes, I suppose..."

"And when you lied to your father, why was that?"

"Because..." Ziyal hesitated. She still had difficulty reconciling the way her father treated her with how he interacted with everyone else around her, so it wasn't a topic she enjoyed speaking of. She settled on the most neutral explanation she could think of: "Because if I told him that Kira was there with me, he would have insisted on speaking to her, and that would only anger both of them."

"Very true," Garak nodded in agreement, though a slight lift of his brow showed his amused recognition of the gross understatement. "So that was also a diplomatic lie, but in this case with the objective of preventing unnecessary and unproductive hostilities, am I correct?"

"Yes, exactly." Despite herself Ziyal was becoming interested in their dialogue.

"Yes... And, finally, why did you lie to Major Kira?"

"Well, I just didn't want to worry her."

"Is that all?" Garak leaned forward, watching her intently, "Or are you telling another lie right now?"

Ziyal felt her cheeks grow hot. "No, I... I didn't want Kira to think me foolish for being disappointed by my father's broken promises. I know she always expects the worst from him, and... I don't want her to-- to think me childish for still hoping for the best." She turned her face away, mortified by her own honesty.

"Very good, Ziyal."

She turned her head back, surprised by the praise.

"You've identified an example of the most powerful and dangerous type of deception: a lie to bury one's own insecurities." Ziyal started to turn her head away again. "No, please don't be embarrassed, my dear. Critical self-reflection is an essential part of your education!"

Ziyal was currently of the opinion that this level of "education"-- more like interrogation-- was a lot more than she signed up for. She refused to meet his eye.

From a direction she was pointedly not looking, she heard Garak sigh and continue. "Deception to cover the aspects of ourselves of which we are not proud is among the most powerful means of self-protection we possess, because of course a weakness our adversaries cannot see is one they cannot exploit. Deception of this nature is dangerous, however, due to the ease of being seduced into believing our own falsehoods."

Ziyal wondered if Garak would grow bored of hearing himself talk if she refused to respond at all. He might eventually, she decided, but it would probably take hours. She would just do her best to ignore him until their time in the holosuite ran out.

"As a demonstration, these are some facts about myself I might lie to disguise, but that I must remain aware of--" 

This was not something Ziyal expected to hear. She didn't move, but Garak had her undivided attention.

"I am prone to anxiety when in confined spaces, I am overly fond of Delavian chocolates, I have spent so much of my life lying that telling the straightforward truth about anything personal feels like parading down the promenade completely naked, and any time I see someone going about their day in ill-fitting garments, I feel a strong compulsion to set about them with my pins, and one day I fear I will no longer be able to resist."

Ziyal couldn't help it as she felt the corners of her mouth curl into a small smile. None of the things Garak mentioned were particularly deep secrets, and she suspected the last one was merely invented for comedic effect, but she felt a bit less vulnerable all the same.

"So, my dear, now that I've exposed my weaknesses and yielded the tactical advantage, are you ready to rejoin our discussion?"

Slowly, Ziyal turned, curling on her side to face Garak fully. "If seeing people wear badly fitting clothes is such a problem for you"-- Ziyal took full advantage of what would probably be her one and only opportunity to smirk at Garak today-- "how can you bear to have lunch with Doctor Bashir every week?"

Garak shuddered and clenched a trembling fist. "That man and his damnably hideous uniform are the greatest test of my resolve I have ever known."

Ziyal giggled softly at his melodramatic performance.

"Now, my dear, shall we proceed with the lessons? Yes? Right, so, in addition to the types of lies already discussed, there are several more we must consider..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ziyal came out to have a good time and she's honestly feeling so attacked right now o_0
> 
> The next chapter will be a little different in tone and format, and will have other people in it who so far are only mentioned.


	2. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ziyal takes a job, finds a social life, absorbs more of Garak's infuriating wisdom, solves a problem for Chief O'Brien, and makes an unexpected new friend.

Ziyal's lessons with Garak continued at an irregular pace. He was a busy man, after all, between his tailoring and the various occasional side projects Ziyal knew better than to inquire about.

Almost by accident, Ziyal had also become Garak's employee, after offering once to mind his shop while he took his lunches with Dr. Bashir. She hadn't expected him to take her up on it, but now he was paying her two strips of latinum to watch over the business for an hour once or twice (or, occasionally, three times) a week. Ziyal thought he was being overly generous, but she didn't protest. It was a relief to have spending money that she didn't have to ask her father or Nerys for.

And it felt good to be trusted and relied upon, for a change, rather than feeling like an object of pity all the time. Little by little, Ziyal noticed she was healing in places she hadn't even realized were wounded.

Before working at the tailor shop, Ziyal had led a very solitary existence on the station. Sharing quarters with Nerys, receiving tutoring from Mrs. O'Brien, and, more recently, talking with Garak constituted the entirety of her social life. But now, of course, working at the shop required her to meet and speak with a great variety of people. She was surprised by how pleasant most of the interactions were. It stood to reason, she supposed, that anyone visiting a Cardassian tailor on a Bajoran space station would not be particularly likely to resent her for her mixed heritage.

Bolstered with a new confidence, Ziyal began making more frequent ventures to the busy areas of the station she had until then avoided. She started taking some of her meals at the replimat instead of always in her quarters. She browsed the other shops on the promenade. She even, occasionally, wandered into Quark's -- though she never tried ordering anything stronger than rokassa juice.

One day, Ziyal finally mustered the courage to ask Jake and Nog to teach her how to play dom-jot. She played two games against each of them, and lost all of them horribly. But the boys smiled and laughed and assured her that they had started out just as terrible at dom-jot. Ziyal was sure they were lying -- a diplomatic lie, to preserve the appearance of equal standing -- but she appreciated their kindness all the same. Then they treated her to a root beer, which tasted better than it smelled, although the fizzy bubbles bothered her nose, and invited her to see a holofilm with them the next day.

From then on, Ziyal found herself in Jake and Nog's company more and more, talking and laughing and watching holovids and playing games. For the first time in her life, she had friends of her own age. It was exhilarating. Ziyal discovered she wasn't shy around them, she could voice her opinions and make jokes and even share her dreams for the future. And that was a funny thing -- when exactly had she started to believe she would have a future?

She still felt hostile glares turned her way when she walked the promenade but, with friends by her side ready to glare right back, it didn't bother her quite as much as it had before.

***

"So, Tora Ziyal, what lies have you told today?"

Ziyal jumped at the sound of Garak's voice. She hadn't heard him arrive back from lunch until he was almost right behind her.

"And stop touching that, you'll wrinkle it!"

She reluctantly turned away from the half-constructed gown on the dress form, made of many layers of a very light, gauzy cream silk that she had savored the feel of rolling between her fingers. At least she had something substantial to report. "An older Trill lady came to the shop today, one of the type that wants to get to know you." They shared the look known to customer service workers the galaxy over, attesting to the trial of patience that was dealing with patrons who were sweet and friendly and unbearably tedious. "She said I reminded her of her granddaughter, who is at Starfleet Academy, and she asked if I had any interest in joining Starfleet, and I said I was considering it as an option--"

Garak gave her a sharp look. "Don't tell me that was your lie for the day."

"No!" Ziyal scowled. "And it's not even a lie, actually-- The thought has crossed my mind, since half the time it seems to be the only thing Nog can talk about, and... Anyway, after that the woman said"-- she felt her cheeks getting hot-- "she said 'surely a charming girl like you has a sweetheart?' and I couldn't just... I didn't want to explain about, well..." Ziyal finished her sentence with a vague gesture indicating both her face and the sector at large.

Garak nodded. "Understandably."

"So I told her, oh yes, I started dating a Vulcan girl when she came to the station with her parents who were studying the wormhole. They all had to go back to the homeworld recently, but we're trying to make it work over subspace."

Ziyal grinned proudly. This had been one of her more elaborate fabrications.

Garak, however, was clearly unimpressed. "Yes, what a delightful flight of fancy! I wish you and T'Veka or whomever a warm home, a full table, and many children." He sarcastically quoted a traditional Cardassian wedding toast. "But my dear girl, when will you finally proceed from merely telling people what they want to hear and tell them what they need to hear?"

"I don't... I'm not sure I understand what--"

"Motivation, Ziyal! The greatest power of a lie is its potential to motivate action! In situations when the truth cannot be revealed, or would prove insufficient to induce someone to take a necessary action, to accomplish one's goals one must, naturally, lie."

"But I don't want to-- to manipulate anyone that way!"

Garak looked up from the sketchpad he had begun flipping through to give Ziyal a reproachful stare. "Must I remind you, yet again, that these essential techniques you are apparently obstinate in refusing to learn have all the inherent moral value of... well, of that laser cutter! They are tools, Ziyal, nothing more. They can be applied toward good or ill purpose, for benefit or harm. The range of potential applications is limited only by the extent of your imagination."

Ziyal waited not so patiently for Garak to finish his lecture.

"Why, just today Doctor Bashir was trying to manipulate my behavior-- quite hopelessly, naturally, but I must credit the dear doctor for trying-- by giving me a litany of dire and preposterous statistics. 'You won't live to be seventy if you only sleep three hours a night, Garak. People who don't go to the doctor are the only ones to develop cancers, Garak.' Pitiful, really, though I suppose he could persuade a child to take their medicine with that approach..."

"Garak, I don't think those were lies--"

He raised a hand, cutting her off. "Or, lest you get the impression that such techniques are only suitable for use in trivial matters--"

Applicable example or not, Ziyal certainly would not characterize Garak's future health as trivial.

"--You will of course have heard about the visit of the time-displaced Akorem Laan, shortly before your arrival to the station? The Bajoran prophets convincing Captain Sisko to pay more attention to his supposed duty to them, by pretending to replace him with a false messenger? A bold move, and risky, certainly, but quite clever. I doubt I could have done better myself."

Ziyal fell silent. While she was fairly sure it was blasphemous to call the Prophets liars, Garak had raised a compelling point. The Prophets were a subject on which Ziyal wasn't sure what she believed. She attended services at the temple with Nerys sometimes, yes, but she never prayed. She didn't see how anyone could know what she needed that way, or care even if they did. After all, if the Prophets could know her mind and wanted to help her, where were they all those years she suffered in the mining camp? But then again, where was her father all that time? And he cared about her, Ziyal was sure. Father cared, in his way. So maybe... maybe the Prophets cared for her too, in their way. Maybe they just lacked the power to act directly, and that's why they needed to manipulate others to act on their behalf...

"Here, Ziyal, lend me your artist's eye--" Garak, apparently satisfied that he had argued his case successfully, interrupted her reverie, and beckoned her over to look at the pad. "Which of these embroidery designs would best complement the lines of that skirt and bodice?"

***

When Ziyal left the shop later that afternoon, she was still pondering over Garak's offhand comment about the Prophets. Absorbed in her thoughts, she was not, admittedly, paying as much attention to her surroundings as she ought to be, so she did not hear the rapidly approaching footsteps in the habitat ring corridor until their source crashed into the back of her legs.

Ziyal stumbled, then whirled around, heart pounding, preparing to fight for her life. But she looked down to see nothing more dangerous than a wide-eyed human child.

"Molly!" Ziyal gasped, trying to rein in her panic. "You frightened me!"

Molly looked down at her feet, which she shuffled. "...'M sorry."

"You really need to stop running everywhere, Molly!"

"Why?"

"Because--" Ziyal regarded the girl, considered the defiant expression starting to overtake her previously contrite face. What could she tell her that she hadn't heard-- and ignored-- dozens of times from her parents? As much as it irritated her, Ziyal had to admit that Garak might be right: the truth was frequently insufficient as a motivator.

Proving the point further, Molly scowled up at her, waiting for the expected lecture she clearly had no intention of heeding.

"Because, Molly..." Ziyal crouched down to face Molly eye to eye, keeping her voice low to indicate she was trusting her with a secret. "We're not supposed to know this yet, but I heard Constable Odo tell Major Kira about a new security measure he's going to put in place. Anyone who runs on the station, who doesn't have a combadge, will be transported directly to the holding cells."

"Why?" Defiance was now replaced with a hesitant curiosity.

"Because according to Constable Odo, except for station personnel responding to an emergency, the only people who need to run on the station are fugitives. Do you know what a fugitive is?"

Molly shook her head.

"A fugitive is someone who committed a crime and is trying to escape the law. When the security officers have to chase fugitives around the station it's dangerous and wastes a lot of time. So Constable Odo came up with a new way to catch them automatically. Isn't that clever?"

"I guess, but... I like to run, and I'm not a few-ja-- a fugitive!" Molly tilted her chin up, triumphant that she had found the loophole in that line of reasoning.

Ziyal wondered, with some annoyance at the thought, if Garak felt the way she did now all the times that she had tried to dispute his claims. She did not relish the thought of how amused he would be to see the tables turned on her. "Well, Molly, you know that running in public areas is against station regulations. So if you start running, you are committing a crime, so that means you become a fugitive."

"But..." Molly looked distraught, clearly working through the logic and finding no error. She sighed. "I guess I can't run anymore."

"You don't have to give up running completely. You can ask your parents to let you go to the gymnasium." Ziyal smiled, trying her best to be consoling.

That prospect clearly held little appeal to Molly.

"...Or maybe a holosuite?"

Molly perked up a little at that suggestion.

"You could borrow one of my programs, if you like. I have one of the Ba'aten Peninsula. That's a rainforest on Cardassia."

"A rainforest! Are there lots of birds? I miss seeing birds. When I lived on Bajor with Mommy I learned lots about Bajoran birds, but I don't know anything about Cardassian birds. Will you go with me? Can you teach me about the Cardassian rainforest birds?" Molly tugged on Ziyal's skirt insistently, her eyes wide with excitement.

Ziyal grinned. She didn't understand why Molly had taken to her so quickly, but the last thing she wanted to do was disappoint the little girl. "Of course I'll go with you! I don't really know much about birds, but I can tell you the names of them, at least."

Molly beamed. "Can we go now?"

"You need to ask your parents first. Otherwise they won't know where you are and they'll worry."

"Oh. Okay! I'll go find Daddy and ask him!" Molly turned on her heel, preparing to speed away down the hall.

"Molly--"

She froze. "Right. No more running. I don't wanna be a fugitive!"

"Good." Ziyal smiled, and offered her hand. "Let's go find your father."

Molly led the way, small fingers gripping Ziyal's palm, chattering happily about all the birds of Bajor.

***

Several days later, Ziyal was reading an enigma tale while she waited for Nerys to come back from her shift for dinner when she heard the door chime.

"Enter."

It was Chief O'Brien. "Um, hello, Ziyal."

"Kira is still in Ops, but if you'd like to wait--"

"Actually I'm here to see you."

Ziyal's surprise and confusion must have shown on her face, as O'Brien quickly fumbled for an explanation that could apparently be found in the bag under his arm.

"I wanted to give you this." O'Brien walked over to the couch and held out a small blue jar. "To replace the paint Molly spilled."

Ziyal took the jar, examining it with wonder. "Andorian Cobalt! How did you get this so quickly?"

"Well, it's not exactly the real deal." O'Brien grimaced, idly twisting the bag in his hands. "An old friend of Keiko's from the Enterprise is a painter, so I asked him for help identifying what kind of paint it was and where to find more of it. But apparently getting a real jar of Andorian Cobalt is an eleven month wait--"

Ziyal's eyes widened. The waiting time had only been five months when she ordered it.

"--so instead he sent me the replicator recipe he'd developed. He guarantees that it's, um, 'ninety-eight point seven percent identical in all relevant optical, chemical, and thermodynamic properties.' I'm told it breaks down under strong magnetic fields though, so, uh, keep it away from those." He shrugged. "Oh! And I have a data rod here with the recipe for it and some other rare paint substitutes too." O'Brien unrolled the bag to extract the isolinear rod and handed it to Ziyal.

"Thank you, Chief. You didn't need to go to all the trouble, but it's very kind of you."

"Nonsense! It's the least I could do, after you've been so good to Molly. She's still talking about all the birds in that jungle program."

Ziyal felt a warmth spread through her. Despite Chief O'Brien's awkward manner, she could tell he was sincere, and... well. Ziyal didn't exactly have a point of reference for what a normal family-- of any species-- was supposed to be like. But there was something comforting about just being in proximity to a family like the O'Briens, that was constant and uncomplicated and so obviously full of love. So if she was made welcome to share in even a small measure of that comfort... no, she wasn't going to shy away from it.

"It was fun playing with Molly. I'd be happy to take her to the holosuite again anytime."

O'Brien grinned, finally seeming a bit more relaxed. "Oh, grand! She'll be delighted! I, uh, I suppose I'll see you soon then." He started to move toward the door.

"Yes, definitely." Ziyal smiled back, slowly turning the jar of paint between her fingers.

"Oh, and, Ziyal--" Already in the doorway, O'Brien turned back around. "Whatever it was you told Molly-- something about fugitives?-- she finally stopped running off everywhere, which is, you know, a huge relief to Keiko and me, so. Thank you."

With a quick wave, Chief O'Brien disappeared as the door slid shut.

***

Later that evening, Ziyal sat in front of her easel. She dipped a brush into her new blue paint.

On her canvas, a family of tropical birds fluttered to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't endorse lying to children, as a general rule, but I can't deny that it occasionally has its advantages.


End file.
